


'cause there we are again in the middle of the night (we're dancing around the kitchen in the refrigerator light)

by orphan_account



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Alternate Ending, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, Endearments, Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Falling In Love, First Love, Fluff and Angst, Gentle Sex, Getting Back Together, Happy Ending, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Making Love, Memories, Post-Canon, References to Sex, Reunited and It Feels So Good, Romance, Safe Sane and Consensual, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, True Love, four years later
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-05
Updated: 2017-11-05
Packaged: 2019-01-29 21:12:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12639279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: ...down the stairs, I was there, I remember it all too well.Elio saw them on his walk to his first lecture of the day.Two young men, probably around the ages of twenty and twenty-four and suddenly he was back in Italy, back in the place he had called home for years, watching the sunset and the sky become an explosive array of purples and pinks and reds with a taller man standing beside him, smoking cigarettes, leaning against the balcony. He was back where it all began, where he’d first felt love, of a different kind, of an obsessive, all-consuming and heart-wrenching power that had taken hold of his body and mind and hadn’t let go, not even these years later.





	'cause there we are again in the middle of the night (we're dancing around the kitchen in the refrigerator light)

**Author's Note:**

> I know that the song title is from the present and the story was set in the 80’s, so even though All Too Well inspired this idea, the story still takes place in the 80’s, following the book. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone who commented on my other fic of these two. I'm officially down the rabbit hole with this pairing. 
> 
> Note: Though the university and state that Elio is staying in is not mentioned, it is clear that, in the state he is living in, same sex activity is legal and has been for a while, so perhaps think of Illinois, San Francisco (California) or even New York, though the first two made same sex activity legal earlier, but that does not mean there was no prejudice. 
> 
> I own no one. Any mistakes are my own.

* * *

Elio saw them on his walk to his first lecture of the day.

Two young men, probably around the ages of twenty and twenty-four and suddenly he was back in Italy, back in the place he had called home for years, watching the sunset and the sky become an explosive array of purples and pinks and reds with a taller man standing beside him, smoking cigarettes, leaning against the balcony. He was back where it all began, where he’d first felt love, of a different kind, of an obsessive, all-consuming and heart-wrenching power that had taken hold of his body and mind and hadn’t let go, not even these years later.

They were riding their bikes between campus’s. One had blond hair and other had darker hair. They were both laughing at something. Elio paused, watching as they stopped, leaned their bikes up against the wall and kissed. They fell into each other’s arms and the blond cupped the brunette’s face and suddenly, Elio was back on the berm where he’d first kissed Oliver, with the older man’s hands on his cheeks, making him feel like he was the only person he’d ever kissed.

The blond took off his scarf and wrapped it around the brunette’s neck. He leaned down and whispered something in his ear which made the brunette blush and bury his face in the blond’s neck. Elio’s throat seemed to close up. He remembered wearing Billowy for a couple of nights after Oliver went and then it became too painful to even look at. Still, he remembered where it was in his room and where it was now. He was wearing it in fact, it hung on his frame and though it had been far too hurtful to look at it after he heard of Oliver’s marriage, now, the pain was like a dull ache, a comfort to him when he woke in the middle of the night, alone with tears in his eyes and the pounding of his heart. So, he wore it as if it were his own shirt, which he guessed it was now. He had come to realise that the dull ache would never go and if he left the shirt back at home, with his parents, it would probably be thrown out when his mother did her spring cleaning.

He was living in the States now, going to university to study his masters. That hazy summer, drunk on love and the touch of his lips, had passed by with a blink of an eye, four years ago. After they heard of Oliver’s upcoming wedding, Elio had fallen out of touch with his summer prince and even though he kept in contact with his father, it was far too much for Elio to pick up the phone or write to him.

Elio’s eyes focussed on the young couple a few feet away from him. They were kissing again and then they were talking, and Elio was taken back to Rome when Oliver had pressed him up against the wall and kissed him like he was dying, like if he didn’t kiss him then and there, something was going to take him away, like the sun was about to descend on them or the shards of winter were about to slice through their delicate love. And it had, in way.

Watching the young couple reminded Elio of the bike rides into town, of them racing each other and kissing on the berm, of them making love and regretting it after but falling back into bed together when they realised that their souls were like stars, forever attracted to one another, like the tug of the moon on the waves, as the shores were touched by the ocean’s crashes, they would never be able to break apart. They had been wrong, Oliver had made sure of that.

In Elio’s room, a house he shared with friends from his undergraduate degree, he still has the picture of Oliver from his application. Young and wise, staring up at him with that smile on his face. A smile that still made his heart pound and his palms sweat, itching to touch and take and give. But that hazy romance had died many moons ago and now Oliver was probably happily married, and Elio was lost in a sea of words and poetry, and philosophers that he loved but could not make sense of, because of the beating of his heart, which longed for a soul that had moved on without him.

The couple had moved on. Elio turned away and continued walking to his first class of the day.

*

He took his usual seat at the back of the lecture hall and wondered if the melancholy feeling in his heart would ever leave him. In the four years that had passed, he’d fallen in love with another man and out of love, it had been wonderful and special and painful, but now being without it, he realised he’d never really needed it. Not like he had needed Oliver. He had come to close to getting back together with Marzia, to try and rekindle whatever it was, whatever had passed between them, but it hadn't worked. Not like he and Oliver had. 

Perhaps, it was the spell of a first love. The kind of love that never leaves you, that haunts you in nightmares and sensual dreams that leave you aching and wanting but cannot find whatever it is you desire. The kind of pain that you wish you had never felt but knew that if you hadn’t the memories of that love would have never kissed your mind.

He remembered it all too well.

The talks at night, dancing until dawn, singing drunkenly together in Rome, clutching at one another for that last night. Making love for one last night, the desperation in Oliver’s eyes and the needy gasps Elio had let out and the hunger in their last kiss before Oliver had left him.

Elio often wondered if they got lost in translation. If in another world, perhaps they would have worked out. If another Oliver and another Elio could have met and would be in love. Elio wondered if he’d ever meet this Elio who was happy and free. Maybe, he had asked for too much, maybe their masterpiece of a love had been torn apart by the distance or the age gap or whatever the winter had brought after the dream of summer.

When he’d visited that time with news of his wedding, their spell was finally over. A promise shattered and left in disarray at their feet. If that had been Oliver being honest, he didn’t want it. He didn’t want to face the reality that Oliver would belong to someone else. He felt like one of the pieces of paper that he so often wrote notes on, crumpled and discarded, like the peach that Oliver had brought back to life while eating it, except there was nothing to bring Elio back to life.

Then, he threw himself into studying, he found his love for books and literature again. The words that had comforted him moons before Oliver replaced him in a way that would never truly take away the ache, but eased the mornings and nights without him. He’d been paralyzed by it, his old self stared him back in the face when he looked in the mirror. He wondered if he could ever return to who he had been, who he had loved. The old Elio didn’t have the memories or Billowy, the thing that if he pressed it to his face hard enough, he could still smell Oliver. Could still see the nights when Oliver had made him his own, of mornings in a daze and messy kisses in the afternoons.

Elio wondered if Oliver thought of him when he was making love to his wife. If he looked upon the picture he had taken and remembered the young man from Italy who had stolen his heart and hadn’t let it go all these years later. He wondered and wondered and wondered.

“Hey, Elio,” a voice next to him said. Elio’s eyes turned up to gaze at his friend. An American boy who loved literature as much as he did. Jonathan.

“Hey,” Elio replied, forcing himself to smile. He shook his head and remembered where he was. They were having a guest speaker come in to talk to them about German philosophers. The door opened, and Elio’s breath caught in his throat.

 _Oliver_.

He looked the same, the same beautiful eyes, the same open face, soft skin that Elio had craved to be against his for years. The same blond hair with darker brown strands, the same youthful features. Time, it had only been four years, but still, had been kind to him. Elio imagined that he was still as fit as he had been four years ago. He looked smart, dressed in a suit with his papers and books. He set them down on the desk. He hadn’t looked up at the class yet.

Elio felt like he couldn’t breathe. His chest was tight, pounding heart and his throat was closing up. His vision seemed to narrow on the man at the front of the class, trying to calm himself down. _Keep calm_ , he thought, _he’s just a teacher_. How, of all places, had Oliver ended up here? The last Elio had spoken to his father, his father had said that he was happy that he was studying further and that he might meet some new people, to get over Oliver or to meet someone like him. Perhaps, he had known. Perhaps, he had always known. He had back then, why wouldn’t he now?

“Elio, are you okay?” Jonathan asked. His hand on his shoulder. Elio wanted to scream. Wanted to push him away. _Stop touching me_. Oliver was so close and yet so far away. His eyes trailed down to Oliver’s papers, to where his hands were and noticed, of all things, that there was no wedding ring.

Elio stood. Unable to stop himself. Oliver turned at that exact moment. Whatever he was going to greet the class with died on his lips as his eyes met Elio’s. When he saw what Elio was wearing. The shirt. Tucked into his jeans. Jeans rolled up at his ankles where his converses were. Youthful and beautiful just as he always had been.

“Elio,” Jonathan said again, hand tugging on his arm. “What’s the matter?”

Elio felt like his heart was thumping in his chest, his legs were shaking but his feet were carrying him away, away. He paused when he got to the bottom of the stairs, eyes still on Oliver, shock on the other’s face, a word, like so many words had died on each of their lips during their last meeting and then Elio was out the door, panting.

He burst into the toilet and braced himself over the sink, closing his eyes as he count back from ten. He tried to remember Italy and the pool and the water caressing his skin, thinking of his mother’s smile and his father’s wise words. _You’re okay. You’re okay_ , he thought.

“Elio.”

 _No, no, no_ , he shook his head. Tears sprang to his eyes.

“Elio, please.”

 _No, not yet, please, not yet._ He trembled and closed his eyes. _No, please don’t make me open my eyes and look at you and realise that I can’t have you._

“Elio, come here,” he said, _Oliver, Oliver, Oliver_. Elio brought his hand up to his mouth and gasped, turning around to look up at the taller man. “Please don’t cry, please don’t.”

Elio wanted to scream at him, push him away. He wanted to run and hide and forget him all together. But he was standing there, and Oliver’s hands were on his shoulders, pulling him into his arms, embracing him. Elio melted into his chest and sobbed there. Smelling him. He smelt like he always had, and he was taken back to their berm, where they kissed. Sunshine and flowers, grass and the river and the sight of the sky. God, how he missed it.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered into Elio’s hair, kissing his head, wrapping him in tight. “I’m so, so sorry, Elio. I wanted to stay, I wanted to hold you forever and keep you.”

Elio pushed himself out of Oliver’s arms, angry. Oliver took a deep breath when he noticed how piercing Elio’s eyes looked, how his entire body was radiating with heat and anger.

“No, you don’t get to do that,” Elio said, tears still in his eyes. “You don’t get to apologise and pretend that it never happened, that you didn’t break my heart and leave me there.”

He had wanted to say that for years. He had wanted to ask if Oliver had ever really loved him. If he ever really liked their games or their time together. “You never really loved me,” he said, “did you?”

Was he just a fling to Oliver? Was that all he ever was?

“You were able to push me away,” Elio continued, his voice shook, “that night when we kissed last, you said you couldn’t do this, you were able to throw me away like a discarded piece of paper.”

He went to move around Oliver, to escape the confines of the toilet when a hand grabbed his arm and spun him around. He was bracketed against the door now. Oliver’s gaze held him there. He was, if he truly wished free to go but Elio’s feet stood still.

Oliver’s eyes hardened. He stepped forwards and cupped Elio’s face, so close that their noses were touching, and Elio could smell the mint on the other’s breath. “I love you, Oliver,” he said, using their old game. Elio’s heart pounded. He couldn’t quite allow himself this happiness.

“I couldn’t get married. I nearly did. But I couldn’t. Every night I would think of you, all the time. I remembered it all, all of it,” Oliver said, “you plagued my mind for four years and when you’d visit in my dreams, I wished, I _wished_ it could be real. I never contacted you because I thought you would want nothing to do with me. I thought that our time was lost to those hazy days where you were mine and I was yours. Is it truly gone? Tell me now and I’ll go.”

Elio thought about punishing him. About pushing him away. About never seeing him again. But the thoughts were too much to handle. He’d done that. He’d been without Oliver and it had hurt far too much. Elio sniffed, the tears clouded his eyes. “I’m wearing your shirt, aren’t I?”

Oliver’s face lit up, a smile spread across his cheeks and he leaned down to press his nose against Elio’s. “I love you, Elio.” And then, “I love you, Oliver.”

“I love you too, Oliver,” Elio giggled through his tears, through the hiccupping sobbing sound he made. “I love you too, Elio.” And then, for the first time in four years, the dull ache in Elio’s chest lightened replaced by another kind of ache. A deep desire, a want, a craving, ignited by Oliver’s lips on his own. The way he tasted and smelt, the way he held him, close, strong and protective.

The way their bodies fit against the others easily, like no time had passed, like stars reunited in the night sky after a day of sun and cloud. Like the moon tugging on the waves, like the ocean’s seas crashing on sandy shores, like the fireworks on the fourth of July or the smell of grass and leafy existence by the berm, the slopes of their bike rides and the splashes of water in the pool, like it had all been, forever real and beautiful.

When they pulled back, breathless and teary, Elio wrapped his arms around Oliver’s neck and put his face in Oliver’s neck, like he had done moons ago and sobbed into his skin.

Babbling things, words that he hadn’t known were stuck in his throat. “Never leave me again, don’t. I don’t want to wake up without you anymore, I don’t care whatever happens, if you get sick of me, please just never leave me like that again.”

“I’ll never leave you, and I’ll never get sick of you, love,” Oliver whispered and then his strong arms were around Elio’s waist, pulling him up and into his chest. “Never, never, for as long as I am breathing. And you are in my arms.”

When Elio came back out from Oliver’s neck, tear stained cheeks but smiling, he said, “let’s get out of here. I can’t believe we just confessed our love in a toilet.”

The spell was broken and remade and Oliver chuckled, taking Elio’s hand in his own. “Do you want to come back to my apartment?”

Elio looked up at him and nodded, leaning into his touch, like a flower seeking out the sun. “Yes. But what about your class?”

“I can teach it tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Elio asked, and Oliver knew he wasn’t just talking about the class or the fact that they were together now.

“Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. For all the days we have left,” Oliver said, kissing the back of Elio’s hand. “For as long as I breathe.”

**Author's Note:**

> Note again: Though the university and state that Elio is staying in is not mentioned, it is clear that, in the state he is living in, same sex activity is legal and has been for a while, so perhaps think of Illinois, San Francisco (California) or even New York, though the first two made same sex activity legal earlier, but that does not mean there was no prejudice. 
> 
> Comments, kudos and bookmarks are welcome!


End file.
